


Four Guys Tyson Never Slept With (And One He Definitely Did)

by fizzyblogic (phizzle)



Category: All-American Rejects, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, The Hush Sound
Genre: M/M, Office AU, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-12
Updated: 2008-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-07 20:25:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/68916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phizzle/pseuds/fizzyblogic





	Four Guys Tyson Never Slept With (And One He Definitely Did)

The first time he saw the guy in the lunch line at work, Tyson was suffering one hell of a fucking hangover. A splitting headache and low-grade nausea was just the price you paid for getting utterly smashed and making out with your best friend the night before. It happened a lot, because they were Tyson and Brian, because they'd known each other since they were seventeen, because Brian was hot and Tyson had thought so since the day they'd met. Not hot like boyfriend hot, just hot like hey let's make out sometimes when we're drunk and nobody else will make out with us hot.

The guy in the lunch line was – at first glance, Tyson thought he was boyfriend hot. Like, oh hi hey there fancy going for some coffee some time hot. Then the guy turned, and he was talking to someone and he laughed, and the sun burst out from behind the clouds and angels sang and Tyson couldn't stop staring at the guy's mouth. Just, it was so _perfect_ and such a gorgeous _shape_ and somebody poked him in the back from behind to make him move with the line. He did so, absently, still watching the guy who was several people in front of him and deep in conversation with Patrick from marketing, and Frank was behind him, so the guy must be the new marketing guy. Tyson filed away the information and dubbed him New Marketing Guy With The Mouth Sent By Angels.

He was destined to carry this name for four months. During that time, Tyson was always first to the lunch line, watching out for him, and a few times New Marketing Guy With The Mouth Sent By Angels was standing at the back of the line when Tyson got there, so they actually exchanged some words and he became Marketing Guy With The Mouth Sent By Angels And The Ass Of Wonderment And The Eyes Of Please Bang Me Right Now Marketing Guy Please.

Somehow, every time Tyson talked to the dude, he forgot to ask for his name. So the guy's title grew ever longer and Tyson began looking at the clock earlier and earlier, watching the minute hand crawl around until it was finally lunch time.

One morning, Pete clapped a hand on Tyson's shoulder and said, "That clock's not gonna go any faster if you just stare at it. The Force doesn't work on time itself, you know."

Tyson made a dismissive noise. "The Force is mighty and will work on anything." He poked Pete in the side with a rolled-up sheet of paper from his desk.

"Will it get you to come over tonight and watch some movies?" Pete asked, dodging. Tyson reached further and hit him on the third try, the paper bending and creasing.

"Depends if you actually have movies that aren't porn." Tyson paused. "Wait, forget I said that, what time?"

Pete tended to invite most of the sales team to his place on the weekends, to watch movies and hang out and bitch about the management. He had an on-off thing with the Beckett of Beckett &amp; Carden Enterprises, in that they sometimes met up in bars and fucked on each other's couches, but his loyalty was to the team. Meaning that he went into detail but swore he didn't double-agent on them. Vicky liked to point out that Patrick From Marketing would never date him if he kept on sleeping with the boss, but Pete just waved her away and offered her another drink.

Tyson got drunk that night, curled up almost in Pete's lap as Ryland and Gabe threw popcorn at the screen during the boring bits (ie, the parts of the movie that weren't porn) and asked around to see if anybody knew Marketing Guy With The Amazing Physical Attributes And Oklahoma Accent Who Badly Badly Badly Needs In Tyson's Pants Like Yesterday and could furnish him with a name. Unfortunately, nobody could, although Alex did say he'd seen the guy in the corridor the week before; he'd bumped into somebody and got coffee all over his shirt (from the biggest cup _ever_, apparently) and shucked it off while heading to the bathroom to clean up, and Alex had noticed he had tattoos on his arms. Tyson slid further down in Pete's lap and whined, "Oh God, why's he have to have _tattoos_ too? Fuck."

"You like tattoos, huh?" Pete waggled his eyebrows.

Tyson crawled up and put one arm around Pete's shoulders; the other was holding his drink. "You offering something, little man?" he asked, trying to bat his eyelashes. He had a feeling the gesture had failed, but gave himself points for effort.

"Only if you don't call me little man." Pete leaned in before Tyson could come back with _but you are small and puny, jackass_ and, hey, he was wiry and tricksy and kind of a great kisser. Tyson heard Vicky and Gabe whooping, Darren laughing, and somebody shouting for a camera. This would be all over the office by Monday morning, but Tyson didn't care right at that second. Pete was doing great things with his tongue.

They leaned back when the kiss ended, and Tyson swigged a gulp of his drink. "Thanks," he grinned, toothy, "that was awesome."

Vicky was triumphantly holding a camera. "Hah," she declared, holding it aloft, "captured!"

"For posterity?" Pete raised his eyebrows.

"Duh, for the _notice board_." Ryland rolled his eyes.

"I think shaming people only works when they _have_ shame," Tyson pointed out, petting Pete's hip through his jeans.

"He makes a good point," Gabe conceded from the floor.

The picture was, predictably, on every department notice board by the time Tyson got to work on Monday morning. He also found a CC'd email waiting for him with the picture as an attachment; he rolled his eyes at Vicky, puckered his lips up at Pete, and looked through the rest of his emails.

Lunch finally arrived, and Tyson headed down to the cafeteria only to find the entire marketing department was there _minus_ Marketing Guy With The Heavenly Hair And The Upper Lip That Demands Filthy Things Be Done To It. They were close enough in the line that Tyson caught a few snatches of conversation and worked out that someone was sick that day, and figured it must be him. Tyson deflated and hoped Marketing Guy He Suddenly Wanted To Tuck Up In Bed And Feed Soup To got better soon.

For the next two weeks, Marketing Guy Who Was Gorgeous And Heavenly And Currently Sick left a marked hole in Tyson's lunch hours. By the following Monday he had taken to sweeping his eyes over the cafeteria before joining the line, and if the marketing crew were sans Heavenly Lips he just headed back to the office and ordered in. This wasn't so bad, because Darren usually did the same and they hung out, eating Chinese and trading movie quotes. Darren sometimes fumbled his chopsticks and blushed slightly when Tyson quoted something suggestive, and Tyson thought, huh.

On Wednesday, in the middle of Darren quoting some obscure movie Tyson had only heard of because Brian had once fucked this guy who was really into it and brought it over for them to watch, Tyson just leaned over and kissed him. He did it slowly, the corner of his mouth first, but then Darren made a soft sound and shifted and kissed him back. It was _nice_ and it was slow and really kind of sweet. Darren was blushing when they moved away, and Tyson bit into an egg roll.

"Uh." Darren cleared his throat. "Was that your way of saying you don't know it?"

"No. I _do_ know it, that was just … you're nice. And cute." Tyson grinned at him, and Darren blushed a little pinker.

"Want to, uh, want to see a band on Friday night? There's uh, this club, a band my friend knows is playing there, they're really good. I was uh, thinking of asking you to come."

"Sure." Tyson dropped the rest of his egg roll into his mouth, chewed, swallowed, while Darren looked like he was trying not to grin really hard. "Tell me where and when to meet you."

Thursday, Marketing Guy With The Incredible Ass And The Cute Nose was still sick, and Darren cornered Tyson when he came back to the office for lunch. "Um," Darren began, and from the look on his face this would not be good news. Tyson wondered if he'd accidentally sold the wrong quantities and the bosses would take the difference out of his pay or something. "I'm uh, I'm really sorry but I'm going to have to uh, cancel tomorrow night."

Tyson blinked. "Cancel?" he repeated.

"Yeah, it – shit, this is – look, I'm really sorry, but um, there's this guy, and – and I really like you, okay? I _do_, it's just – there's this friend of mine and I'm kind of in love with him and I thought there was no chance but last night we – there was – uh, we're kind of seeing each other now and I've wanted this for _years_ and I am so so sorry, Ty, really I am."

"Hey." Tyson pulled him into a rough, quick hug. "It's okay. I'm happy for you, man, that's awesome. I'm just … not used to being stood up _before_ the date, you know?"

"Yeah. Uh. Sorry about that." Darren examined the floor. Tyson waited until he looked up, and gave him a smile.

"It's really okay. Good for you and your guy, man." He clapped him on the back and headed down to the cafeteria again. May as well eat lunch there, for today.

Marketing Guy Whose Waist Is Hypnotic And Whose Smile Is The Cause Of Ducklings was _still_ sick the next day, and Pete was busy – he'd finally worked up the courage to ask Patrick From Marketing out and Patrick had said alright then – so Tyson's weekend was free. Brian had a new boyfriend, and they would no doubt be spending the entire two days in the apartment having loud, obnoxious sex like they'd been doing for the previous week.

Tyson got home that night to the sounds of being correct, so he grabbed a shower, pulled on his favourite shirt and headed out.

The first club he went to had a sign up saying 'live music!' and Tyson didn't connect it in until he saw Darren at the bar, leaning up against another guy, who was very cute and smoking a cigarette. Tyson noticed that the barman was blond, stocky and really hot, but left anyway.

The second club he went to was exclusively a gay club, and Tyson ordered a drink and took it to one of the squishy couches. The place had gone through an entire redesign recently and now it was less sticky-floor-grope-while-dancing and more take-your-drink-to-the-couch-and-wait-for-a-guy-to-come-over-and-feel-you-up; and Tyson was hot. Guys usually made their way over.

Within half an hour, there was a dude. He was stumbling a little, looked very clearly out of place, and he dropped down in the seat next to Tyson. The music wasn't so loud conversation was impossible over here, so Tyson gave him a warm, inviting smile and said, "Rough day?"

"Uh huh," the guy nodded. He was slurring a little. "I lost my guy. My – there was a guy. Friend of mine. Tall, has this hair thing with – locks, something. Have you seen him?"

Tyson pointed over at the dance floor, where a dude several inches taller than everybody else there was gyrating against another tall guy – fuck, was that _Gabe_? – and said, "You mean that guy?"

"Yeah. Fucker left me all alone so he could get laid." Couch guy slumped further against the cushions.

"Well," Tyson grinned at him, "now you've got me." He inched closer. The guy was pretty hot. "Can I get you a drink, stranger?"

It took ten minutes to get the guy's name ("Toad," he said, after a pause) and another fifteen before they were both very, very drunk, leaning against each other and indulging in a rousing session of Feel My Pain.

"It's like – man, what the fuck is _wrong_ with this shit?" Tyson sighed, pointing his beer bottle around the room at random. "There's guys, like, everywhere, right? And lots of hot guys, and hey, I'm not like, stupidly picky, you know what I'm saying? I like guys. Guys are _awesome_. But they're like my brother, or they're in love with someone else, or they're so insanely hot I just want to grab them and _pound_ them against the counter but I hardly ever talk to them, or they're … in love with someone else, and it's like, what the fuck am I doing _wrong_? I'm lucky if I even get the guy's fucking _name_."

"Toad," Toad repeated, watching Tyson's nose. He was kissing him, suddenly, and Tyson just went with it. The kiss was sloppy, sudden, _sodden_ with alcohol (Toad still had some of his cocktail in his mouth, and it mixed unpleasantly with Tyson's beer) and not really terrible but not great either. Then Toad leaned away and said, "I'm not even gay. Shhhhh, don't tell." He glanced around, surreptitious, then started giggling. He abruptly stopped and said, "Shit, she's gonna kill me."

"Who is?" Tyson still had the mixed drink taste in his mouth. He wanted it out now, please.

"My girlfriend." Toad sighed. "I gotta go." He got up from the couch on the third try and stumbled away through the crowd.

Tyson left ten minutes after that, deciding to go in search of some snacks, some water and some pot, in that order.

Monday came. Tyson felt okay; he'd spent Sunday feeling like ass after two nights of partying, but by Monday he was fine again. He'd got it out of his system; he didn't care that Pete had Patrick and Brian had Jonathan and Darren had his new boyfriend and that random guy he'd made out with was straight. He was fine, the world had just decided to screw him over for a while, but maybe he could ask Pete to ask Patrick what Marketing Guy Who Is Stupidly Attractive And Whom Tyson Misses A Whole Lot's name and email address is.

He got to work, shucked his jacket off, switched his computer on, sipped his coffee and checked his email. There was a memo from HR, the month's figures from Pete, a link to a youtube video of a monkey riding a bicycle from Vicky, and an email from someone called Nickolas Wheeler.

Tyson opened it. The subject line was "Re: Weekend antics and future blackmail opportunities", so it must be something to do with that picture of him kissing Pete from weeks ago. He wondered if somebody had complained and HR were issuing a formal warning about displays of affection in the workplace or something, but then he noticed two things. Firstly, that the email was addressed only to him; and secondly, that Nickolas Wheeler was from marketing.

> So Tyson,
> 
> I come back and suddenly you have a name and you're kissing guys. Want to know why I find this interesting?
> 
> -Nick

Tyson sat there, staring at his screen. Guy from marketing. Who's been away since the picture was taken. Marketing Guy With The Heavenly Ass And The Amazing Mouth And The Gorgeous Eyes And The Waist Of Lickableness And The Fucking Arm Tattoos was called Nickolas Wheeler.

Tyson looked up at the ceiling and mouthed 'Thank you'. Then he hit reply and started typing.

> Nick,
> 
> Where've you been? You're the guy I've seen in the cafeteria, right? Yeah, I want to know why you find it interesting that I kiss guys.
> 
> -Tyson

He waited. He got started on some work, keeping one eye on the email symbol in his system tray, until a small sign popped up telling him he had a new email.

He clicked on it, trying to keep the thumping of his heart down to at least below his ears. It was from Nick.

> Tyson,
> 
> I've been on a very long and very satisfying date with my couch. We had a threesome with the DVD player that lasted for days. (Or in other words, I had the flu.) You might have seen me, yeah. I find it interesting that you kiss guys because I happen to quite like kissing guys myself. Maybe we could have lunch together and trade experiences.
> 
> -Nick

And okay, perhaps it was just a gay-guy-from-Oklahoma-let's-talk-about-homosexuality-in-general lunch date, perhaps Nick wasn't really interested in him, perhaps he just wanted to start up, like, a Gay Support Group or something, but Tyson still jumped out of his chair and did a small victory dance.

"What the hell was _that_?" Vicky asked, leaning sideways in her chair to stare incredulously at him.

"It was a dance of _joy_," Tyson informed her. "The human body moving in tandem with merriment." He danced over to her and spun her chair around, grinning. "I have a lunch date with a hot dude."

"Stop spinning me, ass." Vicky braced her hands on her desk and righted the chair. Pete leaned around the divide in the cubicles, grinning that wide grin like he was a cat who'd just stolen an entire tin of cream and knew he'd get away with it.

"You mean Nick from marketing, right?" His eyes twinkled.

"Yeah. Why?"

Pete beckoned him over, and Tyson looked at Pete's computer screen when he pointed to it. There was an email from Patrick there, reading _I don't know what's going on, but Nick just put both arms in the air. I think he was reading his emails._ "Looks like you're both dorks."

"Shut up." Tyson thwapped Pete upside the head and darted away before he could retaliate. Pete threw a box of paperclips at him, and it hit him on the ass as he made his way back to his chair.

> Nick,
> 
> I'm glad you're feeling better now. Ignore everything Patrick says that Pete said. Pete will be lying. I'd love to have lunch with you. Whoever gets there first saves us a table, y/n?
> 
> -Tyson

He tried to concentrate on his work, but he didn't have to wait long before the 'new email' sign popped up again.

> So you didn't just do a victory dance?

He bit his lip and looked over at Pete's booth; Pete was grinning like the Cheshire cat. Tyson flipped him off.

> Maybe. Maybe not. Did you just do \o/ arms?

Less than a minute passed before the reply came.

> Patrick is a filthy liar and will get no more cookies.

Tyson couldn't help grinning as he typed.

> You have cookies?

Ten minutes elapsed before the reply came; attached was a shitty cell phone picture of a plate of cookies. It looked like they were chocolate chip.

> I'll bring some for dessert.

Tyson's fingers hovered over the keys as he debated what to say. In the end, his first reaction won.

> You are the perfect man.

His stomach dropped the second he sent the email. All they'd said was they'd have lunch. Nick was definitely interested, and he knew _Tyson_ was interested, and Nick _clearly_ was entirely made from the footsteps of angels or something, because he was hot and possibly dorky and _brought cookies to work_ and kissed guys and Tyson liked him _so much_ but it was a bit early to be bandying words like perfect around. He was just about to send another email attempting to save his ass when his inbox refreshed.

> I see you are easily pleased. Excellent.

Nick wasn't freaked out. He didn't seem to be discouraged at all, actually, and Tyson sagged with relief.

> Hey! I'll have you know I'm not easy. I am very … not-easy.

Nick's reply was almost instantaneous.

> Cough Pete cough.

Tyson could almost see the look on Nick's face, the way his mouth would twitch as he tried not to smile. It was distracting.

> Shut up, I was drunk. There was porn. He has tattoos. It's a thing.

He managed to get almost all the way through a sales call before looking at his inbox again.

> You like tattoos?

He dialled the next client while typing.

> Yeah, they're hot.

He got through two more calls before the sign popped up again. He finished the call, hung up, and clicked on the email. There were three attachments; the first was a picture clearly taken in the office bathroom mirror, showing Nick's upper arm covered in a tattoo of the Queen logo; the second was a picture of his other upper arm, showing what looked like the Muppets; and the last was a wide shot, also taken in the bathroom mirror, showing Nick's back and the backs of his upper arms. He had a tattoo on each shoulder blade, and one on the back of his left arm. The email just read, _I'll show you mine._

Tyson stared at the screen. He saved the pictures, immediately transferred them to his phone, and just let himself stare for a minute at each in turn. He tried not to whimper.

At last, his brain began to reassemble and he remembered that Nick would be waiting for an answer.

> …cocktease.

He bit his lip after sending it and returned to staring at the pictures. Fuck. The curve of Nick's back mesmerised him, made him want to trace it with his tongue, envelop him from behind and see if their contours matched. He breathed through his nose, trying to keep it even, glad he'd worn loose pants. Fuck.

He looked up and saw that he had another email.

> Oh, you have no idea.

Tyson bit down a whimper. Fuck. He was totally fucked. How was he supposed to get through lunch _now_?

> Just so we're clear, you're not seeing anyone, right? Are you free … some time in ever?

He stared at the pictures while waiting for a reply. He knew he should be working, calling clients, _selling shit_, but he could not tear his eyes away from Nick's back.

He looked up after a few minutes. There was an email.

> I am definitely not seeing anyone, I am free whenever you're free and if I'm not free when you're free I'll _make_ myself free. Is that clear enough for you?

Tyson's fingers flew over the keys, heart thumping somewhere around his waist.

> Bathroom, ten minutes? You free then?

He traced the curve of Nick's shoulder on his phone's screen with his thumb. Fuck. A reply came a few minutes later.

> Um. No. Buy me lunch first? Or – at least have lunch with me first?

Oh fuck. Fuck fuck _fuck_, he'd already screwed up.

> Sorry, I didn't mean to imply that – I'm sorry. I just. You're really, insanely hot, and I meant it about the cocktease. Sorry.

The second he sent it, he realised just how far he had put his foot in it. He thunked his head down on the desk and quickly typed another email – _I didn't mean, by cocktease, I don't mean you're deliberately – I don't – I'm sorry!_ – but Nick's reply came before he could send it.

> Can we meet on the fire escape on my floor, five minutes? Not for sex.

This must be a new record, fucking up with a really great guy before a date had even _started_ to happen. Tyson thunked his head against the desk softly five times before typing _Sure, yeah, I'll see you there._

Pete leaned over out of his cubicle. "Ty?"

"What?" Tyson sighed. He should be working. He knew that. He didn't need Pete on his back about it.

"Patrick says Nick says it's okay. You screwing things up already?"

Tyson flipped him off again. "Fuck you, like you have the best track record in the world."

"Dude, I said nothing. Don't shoot the messenger." Pete held his hands up.

"Jackass," Tyson threw at him, deciding he'd be warm enough outside in just his shirt.

Nick was already on the fire escape. A lot of people went there to smoke, but nobody else was out there when Tyson stepped onto it.

The first thing Nick did was kiss him.

The outside world was colder than Tyson had bargained for, which might be why he got goose pimples all down his arms; but then Nick shifted closer and, fuck, Tyson started kissing back as soon as he could move. Nick's mouth was as amazing as it looked, and when Nick's tongue eased into Tyson's mouth they groaned in unison and Tyson's hands cupped Nick's hips and pulled him closer. Nick groaned again and pressed _close_ and fuck fuck _fuck_ Tyson could feel that Nick was hard, aligned them flush, started grinding.

It was delicious, it was _excruciating_, and Nick ground back, stroking his fingertips over Tyson's arms, tangling his hands in his hair, kissing him so hard and so fucking _desperate_ that Tyson felt like his skin would melt and fizz at the slightest touch.

"Sorry," Nick breathed, breaking away, still keeping their noses pressed together, his mouth open, exhaling hard, _fuck_, "I didn't – this wasn't meant to – fuck."

"I should be," Tyson inched his fingertips through the gap in Nick's shirt between the buttons over his stomach, "the one apologising, I didn't mean to make out you were – I didn't just _assume_ you were the kind of guy who'd fuck in a bathroom –"

"I'm not," Nick moaned as Tyson touched the perfect, soft, _gorgeous_ skin under his fingertips. "I don't do that, I don't – I don't know you all that well, we only just started – talking, oh fuck Tyson."

Tyson leaned in to take Nick's earlobe between his teeth and found earrings there, so he just licked up the curve of it and growled, "Call me Ty."

Nick's knees buckled slightly. "_Fuck_," he breathed.

Tyson tried to stop himself rocking his pelvis against Nick's, but it was almost impossible. It was as though his muscles were operating entirely without him. "I think," he whispered, trying to keep from moaning too loudly, "I think we should go back inside and not – I think we should get to know each other." He quickly added, "I don't mean sex. I mean like, actually."

"Right. Okay. Good plan." Nick seemed reluctant to move. He was rocking against Tyson, fucking exquisite movement and if they didn't stop this soon, Tyson would fucking come in his pants. And they were nice, expensive pants, so he wasn't all that keen on ruining them. "Right. That – uh, that means we have to stop this, doesn't it?"

Tyson swallowed. "Yeah. That's uh, that's the flaw in the plan."

"Every plan has to have one," Nick pointed out, arching his neck. It was a very, very unfair movement, and Tyson retaliated by licking the exposed skin. "Oh fuck. Okay now seriously, if we don't stop we're both going to end up getting fired."

"You're probably right." Tyson squeezed his eyes shut and _forced_ his body to move away. It protested, but eventually he felt cold air instead of warm, tight, hot fucking body against his. His hands grasped at air currents for a second, and then he opened his eyes. Nick was standing there, smiling softly at him. "Fuck," Tyson breathed, "you're beautiful."

Nick laughed a little. "Uh. Thanks. You're, um." His eyes went soft as he gazed back, and Tyson could almost swear the air between them crackled. He felt a tug and realised he was inching forwards; Nick was doing the same, and caught himself at the exact moment Tyson did. "I'd better –" Nick indicated the door, and Tyson nodded. Nick nodded back and then darted through it.

Tyson stayed out on the fire escape for a minute, curling his palms over the rusting metal. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling like his entire body was busy storing the memory of that incredible kiss, and exhaled a soft, "Fuck." Then he went back inside.

There was an email waiting for him when he returned to his desk.

> Ty,
> 
> Well, um, where to start. My middle name's Don, I have a puppy called Richie, named after Richie Sambora who is one of my favourite guitarists – name the band he's in? I also have a roommate called Mike, he's been my best friend since we were like five. We grew up together. Ummm, I like the Muppets, I play guitar in my spare time, I hate marketing but the guys here are awesome and good friends, and sometimes I bake. I'm addicted to the Food Network and Will Ferrell movies. I like red wine.
> 
> Your turn.
> 
> -Nick

Tyson wanted to just curl up in his chair and type out his life history and talk to Nick _all day_, but he had a list of calls to make and the faster he did them the sooner it would be lunch and there would be Nick and more talking and possibly more making out, though if they did any more of that Tyson would have to excuse himself and go jerk off in the bathroom to relieve the tension. So he made the calls, composing scraps of email in his head, and once they were done he started typing.

> Nick,
> 
> Richie Sambora's in Bon Jovi. I would do JBJ so very hard. My middle name's Jay, my best friend Brian's my roommate, I sing when I'm drunk and in the shower but not much otherwise, my little sister taught me piano and I love what Brian calls old dad music. Roy Orbison, the Beach Boys, anything from the sixties. I like seventies stuff too, like T-Rex and shit, and man, INXS are the best. I also like musicals, don't laugh at me for it. I never wanted to sell shit but apparently I'm good at it. Gabe likes to put rumours around that I'm the office slut, but it's not true I swear. I like really bad horror movies and am a student of the fine art of slapstick. Ever heard of Pauly Shore?
> 
> -Ty

Lunch rolled around ten minutes later, and there'd been no reply from Nick. When Tyson got to the cafeteria he was already at a table, and waved Tyson over.

"I've heard of Pauly Shore," he said when Tyson sat down, "but I haven't really seen any of his stuff."

Tyson stared. "You've never seen Bio Dome?" Nick shook his head. "That does it. This weekend, you, me, I'll kick Brian and his boyfriend out, we are watching movies. Deal?"

"Deal." Nick's eyes were shining a little. It was incredibly fucking cute. "If next weekend you come over to mine, I'll kick Mike and _his_ boyfriend out, we're watching Good Eats. Have you seen it before?"

"That's … a Food Network thing, right?" Nick nodded. "Yeah, no, uh. I'm really more of a does-it-go-in-the-microwave? kind of a guy when it comes to cooking."

"Alton Brown'll change that for you. He's a fucking genius."

Tyson had been inching his foot closer and closer to Nick's as they talked, and it was at that point their ankles made contact. Tyson felt about fourteen, playing fucking _footsie_ under the table, but that didn't stop a jolt going to his heart and his groin.

Nick's breathing went a little shallow and his pupils dilated. They hadn't exactly been _not_ dilated before, but his eyes were suddenly almost _black_ and it was so fucking hot Tyson had to swallow and force himself to stay in his seat. "Uh," Nick cleared his throat. "So we have a – we have a deal?"

"Yeah," Tyson breathed, staring at Nick's mouth. "Deal."

"Um." Nick looked down at his plate, and Tyson licked his lips. "Are you, uh – gonna eat?" Nick's ankle crept up Tyson's leg a little way, rubbing gently.

Tyson's breath caught in his throat. "Not uh, not sure yet."

"Right." Nick nodded absently. Tyson began calculating the risks versus the benefits of knocking several chairs over and tackling Nick to the ground. He knew, intellectually, that jumping him in the middle of the crowded cafeteria would be within the realms of This Is Beyond A Bad Idea, but – but _Nick_. He felt that tug again, realised he was inching closer, and pulled himself back.

"Um. This uh." He made the mistake of looking at Nick again, and fuck, _fuck_, remember how bad an idea it is, Ritter. No jumping in crowded places, especially where it'll get you fired. "I kind of." He waved a hand.

"I know." Nick nodded. He was staring at Tyson's mouth. "Yeah, uh, me – me too."

"I should probably," Tyson made a vague gesture towards the door. "I mean, it – it could get."

"Yeah," Nick said quickly. "Yeah, it – we really shouldn't be –"

"Not at work, right, right, yeah." Tyson couldn't help staring a little. "I mean, I'd end up having to – uh. Relieve a little tension, as it were," he lowered his voice and was about to waggle his eyebrows when he saw Nick turn kind of red and look down at the table.

"Um," he said. Scratched his ear.

Tyson sat very, very still. "You didn't."

"Well!" Nick glanced up at him and blushed harder. "What, after _that_? Out on the … yeah, I did, okay?"

Tyson sidled closer; he had to. "You mean," he whispered, "you _jerked off in the bathroom_? Like an hour ago?"

Nick nodded, glancing up again to look him in the eye, and Tyson whimpered.

"Fuck. I gotta go, I'll be – uh, I'll be back."

"_Shit_," Nick hissed as Tyson stood and made his way, with some difficulty, out of the cafeteria. He found the nearest bathroom, checked around, and was relieved to find the place empty. He locked himself into a stall and shut his eyes.

On his eyelids played a scene. The kiss, out on the fire escape, the grinding, the _touching_, the _moaning_ – Tyson unzipped his pants and reached into them – Nick stumbling inside, finding a bathroom, jerking off, rough movements, breathing through his nose, and maybe he'd shut his eyes, maybe he'd slam a palm against the wall, maybe he'd come hard and fast –

"Ty?" Nick knocked softly on the stall door and Tyson exhaled, shaking. "Ty."

He unlocked the door, yanked Nick into the stall, and kissed him hard. Nick moaned, one hand going to cup the back of Tyson's head and the other snaking between their bodies, touching the fist Tyson was gently thrusting into. "Fuck," Tyson breathed into his mouth.

"Ty," Nick whimpered, "stop."

"Can't stop. Shit. Can't stop, fuck, _Nick_," and then, like so many fucking jerk-off fantasies Tyson had had since he saw Nick months ago, Nick stilled Tyson's hand and sank to his knees.

"Ty," Nick exhaled, looking up from under his hair, and that mouth, that perfect fucking _mouth_ sank onto Tyson.

Tyson's head thunked back onto the door. Nick sucked, and it was fucking _incredible_, and when Tyson looked down Nick hadn't taken his eyes off him. They were dark, and holy _fuck_ watching Nick suck him off was very probably the hottest thing Tyson had seen in his entire life. He came within a minute, and Nick swallowed. Nick fucking _swallowed_.

He zipped Tyson's pants up again, standing, and then kissed him. He tasted bitter, but good, and Tyson lapped at his mouth hungrily. "Fuck yeah," Nick murmured, pressing hard against him, and Tyson undid Nick's pants and got a hand in; Nick arched his neck and hissed, "Fuck _yeah_," and angled his hips, pushing up into Tyson's hand until he stood on tiptoes.

"Mmf, fuck," Tyson murmured, watching his hand on Nick, the way Nick rocked against him, rolling up onto the balls of his feet and back onto his heels. "Gonna get your suit ruined if –"

"Yeah," Nick agreed, breathy, his eyes closed and his mouth hanging a little open, "kind of don't care, fuck, _Ty_."

Tyson groaned. He kissed Nick, hungry, then kept as much contact as possible as he got onto his knees. He pulled Nick's pants down enough, mouth watering in anticipation.

Nick let his breath out as Tyson began sucking. The feel of Nick's cock in his mouth was just as fantastic as he'd imagined it would be, and he instantly got to work sucking and licking and lapping. Nick tangled his hands in Tyson's hair, head thrown back as Tyson watched, heart thumping, getting a perfect view up the expanse of Nick's body every time he breathed in. Nick's thighs twitched whenever Tyson pressed his tongue along the shaft, so he worked that into the rhythm, Nick starting to whimper the more he did it. He sucked soft and hard in a pattern, moving his tongue, stroking the skin he could reach with the hand that wasn't wrapped around the base of Nick's cock, and Nick whimpered and breathed hard and stifled moans against his arm. Tyson sucked particularly hard, Nick's entire pelvis twitched and he bit down on his wrist to keep from groaning loudly; Tyson sucked again and Nick let out a strangled sound and came. He tasted good, and Tyson swallowed carefully as he stood up and rearranged Nick's pants for him.

Nick wrapped his arms around Tyson's neck, pulling him close. "We really shouldn't do that at work again, you know," he breathed, their mouths inches apart.

"I know. Totally fucking worth it, though." Tyson kissed him, less urgent now, almost languid. Nick hummed into his mouth.

"Fuck yeah," he breathed when they broke apart, biting his lip and rolling his hips just a little. "Want to come over after work and screw me? Maybe watch some movies or eat something too."

"You kind of lost me at 'screw', there," Tyson admitted, swallowing. "Is there any word stronger than _Yes_?"

Nick nudged their mouths back together. "I think if there is," he murmured, "you'll screw it out of me."

"You're just doing it on purpose now, aren't you?" Tyson breathed.

"Yes." Nick was obviously trying not to grin. "Screw. Screw screw screw me, Tyson Ritter."

"Oh fuck you, you bastard. You really _are_ a cocktease." Tyson dipped his thumbs into the waistband of Nick's pants, stroked at his hips. Nick bit his lip again.

"It's just fun to watch you squirm," he said, though his voice was cracking a little. Tyson moved his hands around to the small of Nick's back, under his shirt, splaying his palms there and stroking the skin. Nick's eyelids fluttered shut and he arched into the touch.

Tyson lowered his head to Nick's neck, kissing lightly and flicking his tongue out at the pressure points. "I'll make _you_ squirm," he growled. Nick gripped at his arms.

"Fuck, yeah, you will." He tipped his head further back and Tyson traced the tip of his tongue up and down Nick's neck. Nick whimpered, falling against the wall. "Ty," he exhaled, "Ty, we have to stop, we – not at _work_, okay?"

"Sorry." Tyson stepped away with difficulty. Air rushed into the space between their bodies, cooling Tyson's skin. "Right. Work. Yeah."

"Come home with me tonight? I'll make you breakfast and drive you back here tomorrow and everything."

Tyson couldn't stop himself moving closer again. He wrapped his arms around Nick's waist and kissed him. "Did I mention," he murmured, "that you are the perfect man?"

"It might have come up." The corners of Nick's eyes crinkled in amusement. Tyson was just about to reach to stroke a fingertip near them – they were so _cute_ – when the bathroom door banged open.

They sprang apart. Tyson checked himself over and tucked his shirt back into his pants, Nick doing the same. Then they nodded at each other and Nick ducked out of the stall first. Tyson waited a minute, hearing the door close twice, and then escaped himself.

Vicky took one look at him when he got back to the office and wolf whistled. "_Tyson_," she whooped, "you sly dog." She held up a palm and he high fived it. He couldn't really help grinning.

"What, what, what is it?" Pete's head appeared around the cubicle wall.

"Tyson has totally had sex just now. With Nick, right?" Tyson nodded, and Vicky punched him on the arm.

Pete laughed, and came over to slap Tyson on the back. "Smug fucker."

"Shut up. And don't let this get out, okay, _please_, I don't want anyone thinking my boyfriend's an easy slut who fucks in bathrooms. Because he doesn't. Despite … evidence to the contrary, he _doesn't_, okay? Don't you fucking dare start any rumours, Saporta," he yelled over in the direction of Gabe's cubicle. One finger raised over the top of it, flipping him off silently. "Fuck you too, just make sure you don't. Nick's honour is impeccable and if anybody calls it into question I'll kick their ass."

There was a very soft sound from somewhere about Pete's person. Grinning, Pete put his cell phone to his ear and said, "Dude, did Patrick give you the phone?" He paused, laughed, then handed the phone to Tyson. "It's for you."

"Hello?" The display read _Trickytrickified_. Nick's voice replied.

"Hi Ty. I heard that, Patrick was on the phone to Pete. Thanks for defending my honour."

"Hey, nobody says a word against you, okay? Not while I'm around."

"Awww." Nick sounded like he was smiling. "I'll see you in the parking lot at five thirty."

Tyson got back to work amid a constant stream of high fives, cackling sounds and emails from Pete asking for details. An email came at three from Frank, just reading _Nick's had this stupid grin on his face all day. It's really fucking cute. I hope you're not an asshole._ Tyson expressed his lack of assholery and his having only good intentions with Nick. And all the while, he and Nick emailed back and forth, back and forth.

> Things I know about Tyson Ritter:
> 
> -He likes movies. (So do I. This works out well.)  
> -He doesn't cook. (I do. This works out well.)  
> -He gives amazing head. (This works out very, very well.)
> 
>   
> Things I know about Nick Wheeler:
> 
> -He has tattoos. (I like tattoos. This works out well.)  
> -He likes cooking. (I like eating. This works out well.)  
> -He gives the kind of head people write songs about. (This works out very, very well.)
> 
>   
> Might not cook tonight. Kind of have other plans. Order in?  
> -N.
> 
>   
> I have plans for tonight that do not involve you in an apron. Though that also could be fun at some point. Ordering in is the best course of action to take, yes.  
> -T.
> 
>   
> You like Thai or Chinese? Or we could get Indian? I have the numbers of about eight great restaurants. Or there's pizza.  
> -N.
> 
>   
> I am yours to do with as you please. Take that in as many ways as it is possible to take it in.  
> -T.
> 
>   
> There is such an obvious joke in there, dude. Make me work harder for it.  
> -N.
> 
>   
> Oh I'll make you work for it. _Real hard_. Oh yeah.  
> -T.
> 
>   
> I stumped you, didn't I? HAH. Screw. Screw screw screw.  
> -N.
> 
>   
> Gloating is unbecoming on a person, young man. I suggest that you stop it.  
> -T.
> 
>   
> Make me.  
> -N.
> 
>   
> …so when I said you're a cocktease and you said I have no idea, you really really meant it, didn't you?  
> -T.
> 
>   
> Kinda, yeah. Sorry.  
> -N.
> 
>   
> No, it's good, I like it. It's a little straining on the pantal region, but all in a good cause. How long is it until five thirty?  
> -T.
> 
>   
> The pantal region, Ty?  
> -N.
> 
>   
> Yeah, you know, Boner Land. Where I'm at right now.  
> -T.
> 
>   
> Is that Boner City in Boner Land where the signposts are at an angle and the coat hook industry collapsed?  
> -N.
> 
>   
> I hate you.  
> -T.
> 
>   
> Hahahahahahahahahahaha.  
> -N.
> 
>   
> I hate you, Nickolas Don Wheeler. Quit laughing.  
> -T.
> 
>   
> And we are back to "make me". ;)  
> -N.
> 
>   
> I believe I already stated my intention of bringing an end to your activities, Mr Wheeler. I have ways. Methods. You wouldn't believe the moves on me. I'm like a ninja, you'll never see me coming.  
> -T.
> 
>   
> What, except for the part where you're six foot plus and not at all stealthy?  
> -N.
> 
>   
> Oh, I'm stealthy. I'm stealthy like you'd never _know_. You just wait, I'll have your pants off in four seconds flat and you won't know what's hit you.  
> -T.
> 
>   
> That a promise?  
> -N.
> 
>   
> I won't make promises that I can't keep, Nick. I won't make promises that I don't mean.  
> -T.
> 
>   
> …are you quoting a Def Leppard song?  
> -N.
> 
>   
> Maybe. You like them?  
> -T.
> 
>   
> The tattoo on my right shoulder is a Def Leppard album cover, dumbass.  
> -N.
> 
>   
> Fuck, you made me go look at those pictures again. Now I'll be here in the Boner Hospice because I am DYING.  
> -T.
> 
>   
> Hang in there, Ty. CPR in one hour and counting.  
> -N.
> 
>   
> Is it five thirty yet?  
> -T.
> 
>   
> No. It's four thirty five.  
> -N.
> 
>   
> Is it five thirty _yet_?  
> -T.
> 
>   
> …no, Ty, it's forty after. If you keep asking me if it's five thirty yet every five minutes, you will _never get laid_.  
> -N.
> 
>   
> Okay, but if I keep asking Pete he's going to punch me.  
> -T.
> 
>   
> Tyson, if you don't quit asking Pete _right now_, Patrick is going to punch _me_.  
> -N.
> 
>   
> Alright, okay. I'll quit it.  
> -T.
> 
>   
> You're so fucking cute, Ty. Half an hour.  
> -N.
> 
>   
> Sorry, I was just thinking about … stuff. I really should do some more work before I go, right?  
> -T.
> 
>   
> Ten minutes and counting. Do some work!  
> -N.
> 
>   
> Fine, bitch, I did work. Five twenty five.  
> -T.
> 
>   
> Meet me in the parking lot in two minutes.  
> -N.
> 
>   
> Fuck yeah. Gonna make you sweat, gonna make you groove.  
> -T.
> 
>   
> Can we leave out the part where you make me burn and make me sting? I'd rather we just get to the chorus.  
> -N.
> 
>   
> Isn't the chorus just a bunch of dudes going "ohh-ohh" and "hey baby"?  
> -T.
> 
>   
> My point exactly. See you down there.  
> -N.

"There was such an obvious joke in that," Tyson said when he got to the parking lot and saw Nick standing next to a green car, keys in one hand. "Make me work for it."

"Oh, I'll make you work for it," Nick grinned, pulling him close and kissing him, just the right amount of heat and just the right pressure and just the right everything. "Real hard."

Tyson smirked and leaned in for another kiss. "Yeah," he murmured into Nick's mouth, "you will."


End file.
